Majoring In Murder by Jessica Fletcher Page A

Harriet’s irritation was palpable. “The man was in a tornado. We found him under a mountain of furniture. If he’d used the brains God had given him, he would have gone to the basement and he’d be alive today.”
    “Harriet, I know you’re upset, but you really should look at this calmly,” I said. “It doesn’t pay to be emotional when what’s needed are facts.”
    “You’re darn right I’m upset. This could ruin us.”
    “Ruin you? What about my brother? He was killed.”
    I placed a hand on Lorraine’s arm to keep her in her seat, and said to Harriet, “I understand your concern. You’re worried about the college’s reputation, and that’s legitimate. But stop and consider for a moment. You’re a reasonable woman. In light of the letter, don’t you think it’s worthwhile asking some questions about his death? He was obviously afraid that someone was out to get him.”
    “He was hallucinating. That’s what’s obvious to me.” Harriet turned to Lorraine. “Look, I don’t want to upset you by saying unkind things about your brother, but you know he was quirky. He had an overactive imagination and was always immersed in his books. He had practically no life outside those pages, and I’ll bet he was always that way, wasn’t he?”
    Lorraine looked warily at Harriet. “Yes, he always loved books. That’s true. From the time he was a little boy. That was the way he learned things—by reading books. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t tell the difference between fiction and reality.”
    “I’m not suggesting that, and I’m sorry if I sounded as if I were,” Harriet said. “It’s just that Wes didn’t have a lot of friends. His life revolved around the classes he taught and the books he read. His monthly card game was the only break from his routine that I ever saw. He rarely went anywhere on vacation, at the most a weekend in Las Vegas. Most of his time off was spent writing. He was very prolific and widely published, which the college likes to see. He lived a life of the mind. It’s not unusual in an academic setting, but it is insular. So it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he began to see traits in other people that he read about in his books. A few people in the English department may be eccentric—Wes was, too—but none of them is mean or vicious. I’ve worked with these people for years. And Wes had very little influence over their professional lives, other than to assign which classes they taught, order books, and review curricula. When they publish their papers and books, credit automatically goes into their files. Annual reviews include his comments, but they’re done by committee, so no one person has an undue influence on the outcome. Sure, if it’ll make you feel better, ask around, talk to the police department, but please, I beg you, be circumspect. It’s taken a long time to build up a positive reputation for Schoolman, but it will take only a few poorly worded accusations to wreck the years of exemplary service.”
    Lorraine nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
    Harriet eyed the clock on the wall and rose from her seat, picking up her teacup and saucer. “I’m sorry to leave, especially since we haven’t really resolved anything, but I have a five-o’clock meeting with the buildings department. Maybe we can sit down again tomorrow and figure out what you’ll need for Wes’s funeral. There’s only one funeral parlor in town, and that’s Markham’s. I’ll have my secretary call you with the number. In the meantime, please stay here as the college’s guest. I’ll leave a book of meal coupons for you with the cafeteria manager, if you’d like to eat there.”
    Lorraine and I got to our feet and took our dishes to the sink. “I’ll clean up here,” I said, gently elbowing Harriet out of the way. “Why don’t you go off to your meeting. I’ll help Lorraine settle in and then be on my way.”
    Harriet dried her hands on a paper towel. Her face